


It hits the Fan I. - Stanley Uris goes for a Walk

by TheKeyser



Series: It hits the Fan - 101 Ways to kill a Loser [1]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Character Death, Death, Fuckfiction, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, They all die, just insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKeyser/pseuds/TheKeyser
Summary: Some might think this is porn, I`m not even sure if this is a sex scene. But sure as hell it has NO PLÖT AT ALL!





	It hits the Fan I. - Stanley Uris goes for a Walk

**Author's Note:**

> It is still on the loose. And this time it gets them.  
> I love these guys, all of them. But since we all have to die at one point, why not kill them right now? Now the concept here is self explanatory, right? Some of these death scenes will be funny, like this one (at least my fucked up brain finds it funny) others might be pretty bloody disgusting. So if you are put off by the idea of cruelly murdering kids, don`t read this stuff, alright?

Tocktocktock! Tocktock!  
Stanley Uris` head jerked up at the wooden sound from the forest nearby.   
Tocktocktock! A woodpecker! They were Stan`s favorite. For the last couple of hours he had been marveling at a Goldfinch in beautiful speckleless yellow, the piping of a pair of Redbirds and he`d loved them all, but for a Dendrocopos or a Celaptus he would give up all of the other avae of the planet So he left the American Bitterns he was presently observing to themselves and got up. Narrowing his eyes the lean boy scanned the area for the source of the sound and soon found it. At the very rim of the forest it sat clawing to an oak trunk, hacking away on the bark. Stan trained his binoculars on it. There it was, mostly black, intersected with some white - a Dawny? A pretty large one, and unusually radiant. They were usually more matt, but this one`s plumage shone brilliantly, with a little tint of sparkling blue. A magnificent one! It turned its head in Stan`s direction, only briefly before it flew off, but long enough for him to spot the unbelievable: the big, shiny red crest.  
Stanley did not have to take out his classification book to understand the significance and he also immediately understood why this pecker among fellow ornithothusiasts was called the Good Lord bird: Because this was exactly what he himself exclaimed upon recognizing this rarest member of the North American avifauna. 

 

Stan had almost forgotten his once beloved hobby. In the first year after... the event he had been so full of fear, it had not even occurred to him to be out on his own. Later it had been not so much fear, but the things he had put between himself and the fear. At times he did not even make it out the house because measuring his shoelaces and adjusting his socks at equal length was just so time consuming and tiring.   
But at that day, a warm sunny spring day, he would not be trapped by this shit.   
For all the long New England winter months the longing had been growing in him. He was so yearning to once again see the drolly Yellow Warbler, the majestic Osprey or at least a common Blackbird... Well, just to meet some of his old friends, as he perceived them. And only yesterday, after the weather broadcast announced a warm, cloudless weekend, he finally made the decision. For him, who sometimes could not make up his mind about a green khaki or a brown khaki shirt, this simple, little thing was a big decision.  
So he got up early and left a small note to his parents. This time really just a short note, not a formal letter - or rather a pages long epistle - as he would do at other times.  
Just “gone birdwatching - back at five”- period. And left before anyone awoke. Not that he had to sneak out or anything. No, not at all. His folks would probably be glad about him doing his more normal stuff again, even on the Shabbat. And then they would tell him how glad they were and Dad would pat his shoulder and Mom might even have tears in her eyes... No. Stan didn`t need that. He would just be a normal, healthy boy, doing his normal, healthy stuff without constantly reminding himself how normal and healthy he was... Ah, shit!   
So he just left this simple note and left. Okay, he had been lying awake for a couple of hours phrasing and rephrasing it, going over each and every word again and again to make it sound casual enough, like something scribbled down real quick. For a while he had even played with the thought of writing “watchin`” but found it somewhat risky. And then he had to write it out a couple of times, being worried how his second -b tended to come out smaller than the first one. Did this look like he was losing his enthusiasm? Would his parents, on seeing the smaller -b think he got afraid after all and get concerned themselves? Would they set out to look for him? This was not good. He had to be more careful with his letters...   
Yes, it was a decision and it was quite a task to actually implement it, but somehow he made it out.

 

So he had spend the whole morning wandering over the fresh meadows outside Derry, even creeping through the wet grass to get closer to a Bittern that nested somewhere near the Barrens, not giving a shit about getting his clothes dirty or his hair messed up. And there he had been lying in the grass, feeling the sun warm his back, looking at a couple of Red Robins hopping over the meadows. He felt light, at home again, living. Breathing. And then the sound of of one his favorite orniths had lured him to the nearby woods.   
The encounter had only been brief and there was this negative, constantly nagging part of himself that told him he was suffering from some kind of self-delusion, but Stan was absolutely positive about what he had seen. He had spotted a specimen of Campephilus principalis, the most sought-after bird in all North America, last confirmed sighting in 1944, listed as endangered in`67, last unconfirmed sighting in `87... he knew the data. This was hard to explain to anyone not into birds, it was like a Rock`n Roll enthusiast bumping into Elvis Presley at the grocery store.  
`And you had no camera with you` came that nagging again. “Shut up!” Stan muttered resolutely. Not today.

Tocktocktock! Tocktock!  
There it was again, a little deeper in the woods. A happy smile spread upon Stan`s face and he  
followed the sound slowly and cautiously, prudent not to stir up his little friend again.   
It was not much of a problem to spot the shiny red crest against the background of greenish brown. The bird had settled on just another oak-tree at the far end of a small clearing, presently picking a worm or larva out of the hole it had hacked. Relishing its meal it stayed put for a moment, presenting itself in all its glory. Now Stan could even make out the characteristic large, triangular patch of white on the lower back. There was just no way of mistaking it for any other species. It was the Holy Grail of birwatching, commonly known as the Ivory-billed Woodpecker. What ecologists and environmentalists had not found in decades of vein searching he, Stanley Uris had just accidentally stumbled into.  
So he just stood there, awestruck, with tears of joy gathering in his eyes. How wonderful life could be! The moment lasted but inevitably it had to come to an end.   
Only seconds later Stan had already forgotten how it happened, maybe he just shifted his feet to a more comfortable position but somehow he stumbled and fell headlong and the bird again took off again with a high, trumpeting kent-kent-kent sound. And gone it was.   
In lack of any good cuss words Stan just hammered his fists into the soft forest floor in silent frustration. But his anger soon vanished. He was not hurt and nothing could take away these few seconds of bliss. He`d treasure them for all his life, his very own Shangri-la moment. So without any regret he sat up to look at what had caused his sudden downfall. His foot had just gotten caught in a root, how stupid. Well, what the heck. He had decided to make this a good day and so far it had been simply the best in his life. So what the fucking heck. He`d just get up, be positive about it and look for a cuckoo or something. It proved not so easy...   
When the root wrapped itself tightly around his ankle and began to pull, Stan`s first reaction was not panic. Being dragged along the forest soil he was more suspecting some kind of a practical joke.   
“Okay Richie, very funny. You got me, come on out and make a stupid joke so we can go home” he droned in the most bored voice he could muster. But there was no annoying laughter, no four eyed prankster jumping at him from behind a tree. No reaction at all. And slowly Stan began to feel somewhat concerned. Trying to grab a hold, his fingers dug into the rotting foliage, only leaving shallow gouges in the duff.   
He barely managed to grab another root, clung to it and pulled with all his strength. The thing on his foot tugged, Stan tugged opposite regardless of his creaking joints and his looping enemy gave way a little bit. Stan relaxed for a short moment and Zack! What he thought of as his lifeline made a whipping motion and his wrist was seized.   
Now both roots were dragging in the same direction and the helpless boy was dragged towards the middle of the clearing.  
From the mighty oaks and linden that lined the swath there came dozens of climbers crawling towards him together with further roots and long, thin sprouts.  
At this sight, Stanley`s well-kept analytical reason decided to pack up and give way to pure survival instinct. Which, not being equally cultivated, had no better idea than to call out for help an to flail aimlessly around.  
Well, the former was not heard by anyone and the latter was just useless. There were just too many of those snakey plants enfolding him, forcing him down.   
An old bittersweet looped around his belly while a smokeweed together with a branch of ivy grew quickly around Stan`s limbs pulling him in place until he lay spreadeagled on the ground, futilely tugging and screaming.   
When for a while nothing happened, his shock wave ebbed away. Stan lay exhausted, catching his breath, slowly calming down. It was still sunny and warm, a gentle breeze brushed his face, softly and soothing. His fear waned. What ever these things wanted, obviously they did not want to just crush him or tear him apart. But what then?  
After a while most of the slings withdrew a bit, only the smokeweed stayed wrapped around his wrists and ankles. All the others crept - gently and oh so slowly - under Stan`s collar, sleeves and pant legs, began to spread apart and slowly but relentlessly ripped his clothes like pieces of paper.  
Wait a minute! This insolent plant was trying to seperate his thighs! And that was not all. All the withdrawn vine-things came back, crawling voluptuously all over his body, playing with his exposed genitals. Now this was going to far! Stan didn`t even know this ivy`s name! Wasn`t there any decency left in this forest?  
He began to struggle again. To no avail of course, because what can you do against the awesome power polygonatum aubertii? All he achieved was these things slinging firmer around his limbs, pressing him harder onto the ground.   
Again panic took over and Stan would have torn himself apart, if whatever mastermind was contolling the botanic actions had not had a different idea.   
The undergrowth parted and something came creeping through the thicket like an Anaconda. In the middle of the clearing it unfolded, rising mightily and threatening. An ancient, venerable rosebush, arm-thick and spiked like a mace. The rock-hard branch elongated and bend back menacingly. If it hit him, it would tear wounds like a Grizzlie`s paws.  
The threat sobered Stan`s fear fueled brain and the boy immediately held still, not daring to move a toe. The rosebush withdrew somewhat, seeming less threatening, but stayed in sight. Just in case.  
Instead all the grope-twigs came back, bringing all their friends to the party. Stan was carefully lifted, gently propped up soon to be hanging like in a cosy hammock, caressed by a mesh of gentle twigs. The good old Goatsbeard let his tufts play along his spine while the dried-up fringy seedpots of a Clematis made his belly and chest heave with their delicate touch. Tattered wood tickled his scrotum.   
Madame Clematis – Stan had curatorially and mostly just for his own peace of mind - ascribed the female gender to that thing – stretched forth a very young offshoot around his dick and began to jerk him off with unexpected sensitivity. As soon as Stan began to writhe and groan with relish,   
these botanic debauchees gingerly but insistently shoved his knees under his belly.  
A small sapling, still free of bark and oh so soft stole between his buttcheeks, easing its way in, slowly and teasingly. Allowing for a few seconds to adjust it began to move in and out, gaining a little momentum with every inrun. Stan melted like butter in the sun.  
The impudent wood went deeper, grew in him until it reached places Stan had never even known of, ever forming new knobs and bumps. Hot as hell and cold as ice, this itchy feeling just made his toenails curl.  
Adonaj dammit this was good! Why deny it when you can`t fight it?  
Stan had never actually been against sex per se, he only never thought of it as having anything to do with himself. He had just thought of it as something that happened to other people. In this particular instance with all of this... biological stuff going on around him and IN him... well, he just went all bio himself. The well cultivated, self-constrained boy was now merely a bundle of pulsating nerve-ends, swooshing blood and convulsing muscles, panting and grunting brutishly.  
Anyway, the vegetable rapists just went on sodomizing their helplessly drooling victim. Of course plants lack facial features but any onlooker would have sworn that this oak displayed the herbal equivalent of a malicious grin as it was relentlessly plowing Stan`s ass. Not to speak of the pure nastiness of that Clematis- sling pumping his dick. Never too fast though, always trying to prolong the fun.   
But at some point even the most cautious hedera helix couldn`t rein it in anymore. Stan`s man was so hard and swollen, it just BURST at the slightest touch, spurting semen like an exploding cucumber. Stan just bit the sod, trying to stifle his lustful scream, only inciting his wooden tormentor to fuck him even harder. But was it even still the same? This thing must have pulled out a dozen times or so, and by the way, how long could such an oak hold out anyway? Well, it could live about 20 times as long as an average human, so... My God!  
The fresh spring scent had grown much stronger and as Stan laboriously lifted his head out of the leaves, he could see why. The buds had opened now and all the plants around him presented themselves in their marvelous bloomage.  
Presently he heard more creaking and to his utter horror all the trees and bushes gathered closer around him. Branches bent down, thick and bulgy, densely draped with fresh blossoms. Something made him sneeze. All the twigs had begun to shake and rattle, making a thick cloud of pollen trickle down on him. Now Stan was not allergic, but regarding the situation as a whole he found this somewhat... gross. He sneezed again as ever new flowering branches shoved themselves forward to unleash their pollen which, together with Stan`s sweat coagulated in a gooey slime all over his body. He was beginning to have hard time snorting his airways free.. His senses waned... 

Stan awoke on a soft matt of moss amidst the clearing which was now again treeless and flooded with warm sunlight, yet elongated shadows announced the oncoming evening. All the plants had resettled to their original positions and pretended innocent. Had Stan not known better, he would have thought they grinned at him sardonically.   
He was feeling... uhm... What did he feel? Hard to say. Shattered, broken? Yes. But somehow light as a feather and fresh as mountainwater. With a strange prickling all over and under his skin. Almost elated. Winged even. Wow!  
Until he got up that is. Then the battered feeling became predominant. Argh! He moved only cautiously, limping on legs that felt like jello.   
But honestly.... this had not been sooo bad. Perhaps under different circumstances... Maybe, if he got to know a nice young birch... This was all very confusing. After all, you don`t get plugged by trees every day, right?   
So fully taken up by his musings, Stan almost overlooked the all too familiar, lanky figure materializing itself at the far end of the clearing. Dressed in what might be an alien`s idea of circus attire, with grotesque, orange tufts of hair sticking out from its otherwise bold skull it brought back most unwelcome memories. How on earth did THIS get here?   
Stan`s embarrassment at standing buck naked and freshly and literally... FUCKED in front of his worst enemy waned just enough for him to utter his astonishment.  
"Aren´t you supposed to be dead?!"  
"Dead?" Pennywise let out a little chuckle like a freckled bobbysoxer at a dirty joke . "I never lived in your narrow- minded human sense, so how can I possibly die? It`s you who`s dead" It mocked, looking with overacted pity at Stan`s falling face. "Or do you think anyone could survive being gangbanged by a whole forest of schtrrrong amerrrikan oaks, you insipid fool?"  
Now come to think of it... This made sense – yes – but it was a bit of a downer on this beautiful day. So far Stan had ascribed the peculiar tingling that kept shivering through his astral body to the sex – or what ever that was - but maybe this was just what being dead felt like. He had never died before so how would he know? It didn`t feel that bad, actually. So maybe he could just have a shower and... live on. Or something. He was really uncertain what to do, so he just asked.  
„Uhm, okay. And now?“  
„What? And now?” Pennywise still chuckled, but its tone now descended to a threatening dog- growl. “ If you mean your live after death, I did not unleash those trees unto you just to kill you, but also because I find you kinda cute, you know. There`s an old Indian saying that goes something like this: You gonna live on, just like you died. Or so. Well, anyways: On your knees, bitchboy!“

**Author's Note:**

> All I wanted for solstice was my sanity...


End file.
